


The Berlin Weekend

by vtn



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-25
Updated: 2009-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Erol and Alex begin their collaboration, and Chandra is very encouraging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Berlin Weekend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carmesim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmesim/gifts).



> This is a repost of an old fic; importing is currently broken. 
> 
> Anyway I'm, uh, just going to link the Livejournal thread [here](http://fromsaturn.livejournal.com/46226.html#comments), because it's hilarious and contains false allegations of anagrammability.

"Oof." Chandra puts down the large duffel bag she's trying to carry down the stairs.   
  
"I didn't say you had to carry it," Erol says, relieving his poor wife of her duty and giving her a kiss on the cheek as he does.  
  
"I didn't think condoms and lube would be this heavy," she says back, eyes sparkling.   
  
"Records, Chandra, it's a bag of records." But Erol knows nothing he says is going to convince Chandra that he's going to Germany for any other reason than a very long-distance booty call. It's been a point of debate between them since Erol and Alex first met, in London.   
  
"You so want him," Chandra says. "And you have since 2007." Erol lets out a sigh.  
  
"What I want doesn't always equal what I get." He might as well finally admit it. "I don't think he's interested." Chandra puts her arms on her skinny hips and gives him a knowing look.  
  
"Say what you like, but I'll be bloody surprised if you come back and say nothing's happened."  
  
"What did I do to deserve the world's best wife?" Erol mutters to himself and makes his way down the stairs.  
  
\---  
  
A plane trip and a box of Kinder chocolates later, Erol and Alex are both bouncing off the walls. They've already nearly trashed Alex's flat as Alex was looking for the manual for a new synth he bought, and they've now settled themselves down on the couch and Erol is digging through that duffel bag in search of just the right record.  
  
He finds the Trash companion album stuck in between a couple of balearic disco records, and as if he couldn't figure it out with intuition, Chandra's left a note on it saying it should be just the right thing. Erol gapes for a moment. He hasn't even seen this record for something like five years.   
  
"Sexy," says Alex, commenting on the pair of black-painted lips that passes for cover art. "What is it?"  
  
"It's the old Trash record," Erol explains. He's thinking on his feet now. "I thought maybe I should go back to my roots for inspiration."  
  
"Your roots? Wouldn't that be Turkey?" Erol rolls his eyes.  
  
"It's Cyprus, anyway. But don't forget I'm a Londoner, always have been."  
  
Erol gets up and puts the record on Alex's turntable, pleased by that familiar shiver of excitement that comes every time he hears the hissing and popping of vinyl underneath a needle. And it's funny. This one time he didn't have the perfect thing in mind to play for a friend, his wife went and figured it out. Peaches' sultry voice over the speakers could nearly get Erol hard just by itself, but he restrains himself and watches Alex's reaction.   
  
That is, apparently, to dance. To shake his hips a little obscenely, and to keep shaking them as he goes upstairs to fetch Bavarian beers for the two of them. Erol has been doing his best to avoid alcohol lately because he usually has trouble stopping at one or two rounds, but in the name of collaboration and friendship and all of those sorts of noble things, and also possibly limber German arse, he takes a bottle and clinks it against Alex's before downing it.   
  
"I think I want to go back to London," Alex says as Peaches fades into Gonzales. He pauses to take another sip, and laugh sharply when a drop of beer slides down his chin and onto his neck. Oh lord, Chandra was completely right. Erol would give his best pair of Converse to be allowed to put his mouth there. And then Alex follows up with, "I forgot how dirty it is. The London scene is like a porno."  
  
"The way you're dancing, your flat is going to look like a porno in a few minutes," Erol says wryly, doing his best not to give himself away.  
  
"No problem," Alex says, and completely ruins any buildup Erol was trying to achieve by shaking his arse in Erol's face.   
  
A few minutes later they're kissing furiously on the couch, and by the time Kylie is on, ("Fuck, I love Kylie," says Alex), they're completely naked and shamelessly touching all over. Erol is amazed by the way Alex so perfectly mirrors what he does on the decks in what he does in bed. He's still cheeky and has a bit of an ego, sliding onto Erol's cock like he's the one fucking Erol, like he's making a conquest. And Erol loves that.  
  
\---  
  
What he doesn't expect is that Chandra was wrong. This visit isn't just about sex, even though there's plenty of that; the little rubbish bin by the couch is now full of condoms and Erol has probably had his tongue on every square inch of Alex's bronze skin. But they've also been digging through their record collections and watching incomprehensible foreign films and making the beginnings of about fifty tracks before they decide they hate each one.   
  
Erol has never been this creative since he was a brash young kid, getting into one of his trancelike states listening to the same record over and over and then trying to learn all the guitar parts. Alex shrugs his shoulders and says this is every day of his life. He gets up at around two in the afternoon, drinks a beer or smokes a joint, and gets on his computer and makes music if he isn't distracted by video games. Or in this case, by blowing Erol at the kitchen table.   
  
It's absolutely mad, and by the time they have a new track to show off to the kids at Melt Festival, Erol is feeling extremely proud and possibly like he could conquer the entire universe. The set they play together is probably fairly bog standard, but the crowd goes wild for it and Erol and Alex can't help but bounce around while the records play, feeding off of the energy. Like everything else this weekend nothing about the night is serious or deep, it's just boyish fun.   
  
In a couple of days he's headed back to London with a hangover and some new tunes under his belt. This time when Chandra offers to carry his bag of records, he doesn't resist.   
  
"And I don't mind," she says, smiling devilishly, "Because I think you're going to have some stories to tell."


End file.
